


Another Reason

by wordsliketeeth



Series: The Heart's Treason [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boy Versus Girl, Canon-Typical Behavior, Complicated Relationships, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Disagreements, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Girl problems, Loss of Virginity, Manipulation, Non-Canon Characters (Reader's Friends), Power Dynamics, Power Play, Questionable Choices, Revenge to Lovers, School Typical Drama, Strong Female Characters, Teasing, Threats, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: "The buzzing in your head keeps you up for most of the day and well into the night, and when you do sleep, your dreams are on fire—the blisters along the front line are too black for you to see the burned-out scene in the background between the quiet little monsters and the boy with charcoal hair and square glasses." You stand up to Imayoshi after he cruelly rejects an innocent girl's confession, and what should have been put to bed turns into a game of cat and mouse.
Relationships: Imayoshi Shouichi/Reader
Series: The Heart's Treason [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715611
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	Another Reason

It's said that Monday is the most demanding day of the week and you can't agree more as you slump over your school desk. You try to turn the hard resistance of your history book into a makeshift pillow but your attempt fails. The teacher at the head of the room drones on about something you don't care to retain because you don't see a point in filling your head with information you're never going to use. You exhale a soft breath and lift your head just enough to fold your arms over the used textbook beneath you. You wonder how many people have had the book before you and wrinkle your nose at the thought of where it's been and how many bacteria it's been exposed to.

You turn your head and press your cheek against your arm, staring out across the room with absentminded inattention. You blink the room into focus and watch Emi twist suddenly to glare at the boy sitting at the desk behind her. She mouths something that clearly translates to _knock it off_ before she turns back toward the front of the room. You watch his mouth stretch into a smile and his chest expands on laughter, then he starts kicking the legs of her chair, making the reason for her annoyance quite understandable.

You try to wade through the thick fog that muddles your memory in an attempt to remember the boy's name but it escapes you and you're left with another reason to hate Monday mornings. You refocus your attention and catch him staring at you with a lopsided smile on his lips, and when you hone in on his gaze he winks at you. You roll your eyes and grudgingly pull yourself into an upright position.

“I'm glad that you've finally decided to join us, ____. Now, can you tell me the answer to question number nine?”

You glance at your teacher then down to the open pages of your history book. The words that spill across the glossy paper join together like an overflow of ink on a Rorschach test. You try to make sense of the messy inkblot in front of you but there are no questions to be found. You take the bottom line of your mouth between your teeth and look back to the man at the head of the room. “What page are we on again?” you ask him, guiltily.

You know that it's your fault for not paying attention but it's just _another_ reason to hate Mondays.

* * *

Tuesday and Wednesday pass by bearing little significance and you pray that college will offer up more excitement because one can only handle so much monotony before they're bound to break. You long for that freedom and choice of selection because you can't see ever needing to know when train A is going to catch up to train B or the distinct differences between cloud types. You can't wait for the day when your dreams are no longer full of geometric proofs and the process of photosynthesis.

During breakfast on Friday morning, you hear your mother on the phone, complaining about needing to pay the taxes again and how the car needs maintenance while she finishes loading the washing machine, and you think to yourself that these are the things that they should be teaching you in school. You steal a glimpse at the time on your phone and exhale a winded sigh because the only benefit to attending school is seeing your friends and there's not nearly enough time to do so between all of the claptrap. You slide out of your chair and sling your bag over your shoulder before waving goodbye to your talkative mother.

You step outside and into the muted glow of mottled sunshine and smile as the warmth it has to offer spreads out across your skin. Your neighbor lifts a wrinkled hand in your direction before he turns and toddles up his sidewalk, carrying the many burdens of old age with him. You chuckle because you're one of the few in the neighborhood whom he tolerates and you can only imagine the look on your mother's face when you tell her that he acknowledged you again—she can't even get him to _look_ in her direction.

You barely make it into school before one of your best friends is shoving a colorful flyer in your face to remind you that tomorrow is her team's first volleyball match. You laugh and tuck the folded piece of paper into your back pocket. “I'll be there,” you tell her, hoping to ease some of her nervous apprehension. “I promise.”

The day passes by slowly but the promise of the weekend makes it a little less dull, and by the time your final class rolls around you're feeling much more optimistic than you did on Monday. You shove last period's books into your locker and stuff the ones you need for later into your bag. When you close the metal door, flinching at the perpetual squeal of its hinges, a boy with brown hair and dark eyes is mere inches from where you're standing, making you clutch your chest and start in surprise.

“What do you want, Kirishima?” you ask, your breathing coming harder than strictly necessary. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Maybe you shouldn't be so jumpy,” he tells you, smirking arrogantly as if he's just issued the world's greatest advice.

“I'll keep that in mind,” you say flatly and press your shoulder in against your locker. “I have to get to class so get on with it.”

“I want you to go to the game with me tomorrow. Kozue is on the team, isn't she? I know that you'll go to support her, so don't tell me that you're not going this time. No more excuses.” He waggles a finger in your face and you have to fight the urge to smack his hand away.

“I am going, yes. I'm just not interested in going with you.” You turn away from him to head toward your next class but he places his hand on your shoulder, stilling your motion. “Kirishima, don't bother.” You push his hand away from the curve of your shoulder and look at him directly. “I'm not making excuses either. I have no reason to rationalize why I won't go with you. I'm just not into you like that.”

“Why are you such a bitch?” Kirishima snaps, narrowing his eyes, but it's not enough to hide the fact that he's hurt by the truth of your words.

“This is exactly why I have a problem with guys like you. If I turn you down then I'm a bitch, but if I go out with you I'm a prude because all you want is a ticket into my pants and I'm not that easy.” You take a step away from him and raise your hand in a motion that silences his inevitable rebuttal. “Don't. I might not believe all of the rumors that go around this school but I _do_ believe my friends. I know what you're really like and I won't be another notch in your belt, Kirishima.”

With nothing left to be said you turn on your heel and walk in the direction of the few girls waiting for you to join their group. Kirishima shouts something about you liking pussy but you ignore him in favor of Kozue's recent wealth of gossip.

It's far from the first time that you've been pinned with an unjust label regarding your character because for some reason you seem to attract a specific type, and those are the boys that aren't worth getting upset over. It's all about egotism and pretension and wounded pride and you won't be a byproduct of their own self-destruction.

You keep your head held high and hold on to the fact that you're a good person and that you're a far cry from what they've said about you. It's not only what you need to do for yourself, but it's the best form of retaliation because they can't take what you don't offer.

* * *

Saturday settles over you like hoarfrost at winter's dawn but once you're showered and fully dressed the weight of misery breaks open and eases into a light summer breeze that drives away your trepidation.

You grab something quick to eat and consider doing the few assignments you have left for next week's turn-in but you can't find room for inspiration between breakfast and the volleyball match. You're always willing to support your friends but you'd be lying if you said that going back to bed wasn't looking like a better option. You exhale a soft breath and take a quick swig of orange juice while encouraging yourself that you're doing the right thing. Though, the real stimulus is the knowledge that the matches don't tend to last longer than a couple of hours at maximum.

You grab a hooded cardigan off of a hook near the front door and shout goodbye to anyone who _might_ be home before hurrying outside. The sun is warm and bright and the sky is finally free of the clouds that have been hanging the threat of precipitation over your head, quite literally. The air is refreshing and carries with it the sweet scent of honeysuckle and roses. You close your eyes and turn your head up toward the sun and inhale a deep breath. You can feel your lungs expand and the lessor of stresses leave your body. You take a moment to bask in the resplendent heat on your skin, then you remind yourself that Kozue won't forgive you if you don't get a front-row seat.

The gym is dappled with students by the time you make it inside but you don't have time to look for familiar faces because Kozue is throwing her arms around you in a hug that nearly drives you to the ground.

“I'm so happy you could make it!” she exclaims, her smile wide and face flush from pre-game practice.

“I said I'd be here,” you remind her, returning her smile as you gently pry her arms away from your body, then: “Okay. Some of us need to breathe.” You tuck an unruly strand of hair behind her ear and curve your lips on a lopsided grin. “Susa's here. He's the only one I was able to pick out of the crowd before you decided to bowl me over. Are you nervous?”

“Of course not! After all, I'm going to be today's star player!” Kozue settles into a Rosie the Riveter stance and flexes her muscles. “He won't be able to look away from me, and when the game is over he's going to ask me out for a bite to eat.”

“You're terrified, aren't you?” you ask, trying hard to stifle the laughter that's catching on the damp behind your teeth.

“I can't feel my fucking legs and I'm pretty sure my heart stopped ten minutes ago,” she gushes, putting barely any white space between her words.

“You're going to do great. Just focus on the game and pretend that you're at practice. You've got this.” You close your fingers on her shoulder and squeeze in a gesture meant to imbue her with confidence.

“But he's never been at any of my practices and he's” –Kozue looks over to the bleachers– “oh my god, he's sitting right in the front row. What if I mess up? What if I lose the serve or hit him in the head with the ball? What if I trip or fall or” –she gasps dramatically– “ _what if I lose my shorts_?” Kozue prattles on in rising panic.

“Girl, if you lose your shorts then you're doing something more than playing volleyball and I don't think that sort of thing's allowed on the court. They're practically glued to your skin. You need to chill. You're going to be fine. I mean it. Stop thinking about all of this negative crap and be the confident hotshot I know you can be. Besides, if any of that made him judge you, you're better off without him.” You smile and take her shoulders in your hands. “He plays basketball. He gets that accidents happen. Remember that practice match they played a few weeks ago? The one where he accidentally kicked the ball on a rebound and it hit that guy on the other team in the ass? Humans are walking, talking disasters. I'm sure he'd understand if you messed up but don't focus on that. Positive thinking, right?”

“Do you think he even likes me?” Kozue asks, slightly forlorn.

“Clearly you missed the whole positive thinking memo,” you mutter, teasing. “Look, there's only one way to find out—you need to talk to him. But that's for later, right now you need to get your cute butt out on that court and get ready for your match.” You lift your head and steal a glimpse at Susa, who's suddenly being joined by Imayoshi and Momoi.

Kozue follows your line of sight and blushes when Susa issues her a brief wave. She waves back and flashes him a bright smile, then she turns back to you and squeals excitement. “Did you see that?”

“I'm literally _right_ here. You have absolutely no chill, do you?” you say, laughing. “Good luck and remember, there's no loss if you've tried your best.”

“You don't even play sports. Go sit your ass down,” Kozue needles, smiling like she's just touched the brightest star.

You make your way across the gym and just when you decide on the perfect seat you spot Kirishima and his friends enter the gym. You quickly retrieve your cardigan and bag and walk over to where Momoi is sitting. “Is this spot taken?” you ask her, ducking in hopes that Kirishima won't find you until it's too late.

“Nope! I was hoping that Dai-chan would show up but he's not a big fan of volleyball and he's out shopping for “shoes” anyway,” she says, fingers bending on air-quotes.

“So...is he out getting a pair of heels or something? He doesn't strike me as the type,” you ask, confused.

Momoi laughs and shakes her head and Imayoshi emits a grunt of amusement. You shift your gaze to him reflexively and notice how his glasses go opaque when he turns to say something to Susa that you can't hear.

“I mean, he _is_ getting shoes but there's no doubt in my mind that he's out shopping for gravure magazines. It's like a weekend tradition. He's been doing it for years.” Momoi rolls her eyes and folds her hands over the bend of her raised knee. “Boys, am I right?”

You emit a puff of air and nod. “Yeah.”

“Is that why you're hiding from Kirishima?” Momoi asks, sparing a glance at his group. “I don't mean to pry but observation is kind of my thing and it's plain to see that you're not his biggest fan.”

“No, I'm really not. He seems to be under the impression that I'm a _bitch_ because I won't go out with him.” You open your mouth to elaborate on the situation but Imayoshi leans forward and peers at you, stalling the thoughts that were turning to sentences inside your mind.

“Would you go out with me?” he asks without pause.

“Why would I go out with you when we've never even spoken before now?” You furrow your brow in consternation, confusion swallowing your previous reflection.

Imayoshi shrugs while offering you the white slash of a smile that looks far too predatory to offer up any sense of comfort. “Just curious.”

“Imayoshi-san likes to assess people,” Momoi offers. “Don't pay him any mind.”

“I'll have you know, I reckon that she'd be a beautiful distraction,” Imayoshi tells Momoi.

“Don't be tacky,” Momoi chides. “Besides, you don't need any distractions. We have a rigorous season ahead of us and I need you focused.”

“This one's a right pain in the–” Imayoshi begins to tell Susa but Sakurai rushes over to where Imayoshi is sitting, slightly out of breath and red-faced.

“I'm sorry I'm late. There's some kind of event at the bookstore near my house. The sidewalks were packed,” he pants. “I'm sorry.”

“You're not late, Sakurai-kun. It's fine. I'm just happy that you've joined us.” Momoi uncrosses her legs and smiles warmly at the brown-haired boy. “That means we just need Wakamatsu-kun.”

“I've never seen you attend one of these matches,” you tell her, but your voice is strangely quiet, like you can't get your words to full volume.” You clear your throat and shift slightly in an attempt to find comfort in the unyielding resistance beneath you.

Momoi combs her fingers through her long hair and tosses it over her shoulder before offering up an answer. “Oh, I'm actually here to observe the team. I'm looking for new inspiration, Well, that and it's Team Appreciation Day. It's important that the sports teams get together now and then to show their support and the value of school unification. That's why I'm disappointed in Dai-chan.”

“I'm glad I was sitting down,” Susa deadpans.

“Why?” Sakurai asks, missing the cynicism entirely and looking around for a tangible explanation regarding Susa's comment.

“He was being sarcastic,” Imayoshi tells him. “I don't think a day goes by that Momoi-chan's not disappointed in Aomine-kun at least once, and if it's only once, it's an exceptionally good day.”

Momoi looks like she's about to protest in a show of support for her friend but she closes her mouth and giggles instead. “I suppose that's true,” she says, sounding somewhat dejected.

You talk with Momoi until the match is about to begin and Wakamatsu finally shows up. It's a miracle that he makes it to the bleachers before the first serve because he's more than halfway across the gym when the teams take their positions. He claims the spot next to Sakurai and offers him a small bag of candy in which the smaller boy takes with delight. Imayoshi mouths a question that's undoubtedly similar to _where's mine_ and it makes sense because Wakamatsu shrugs, and you have to look away from Imayoshi's offended expression for the laughter that bubbles up and into your throat.

You cheer for Kozue and the rest of the team where it's due, and despite a brief hangup during their second game, they manage to pull through and win the match. You stand up with the rest of the students and shout words of triumph as loudly as your voice will allow. Your hands ache by the time you're done clapping but it's well worth it because the energy flowing through the gym is enough to instill Kozue with the courage to pull Susa into an unexpected hug.

Susa laughs and takes her by the hand when she pulls away. You smile at your friend, genuinely happy for her cumulative successes. She makes a joke about needing a shower and Susa tells her that he'll be waiting for her outside. She nearly bounds across the gym and it's not until she leaves that you notice the girl standing in front of Imayoshi. You recognize her from the volleyball team and you think her name starts with an E but you can't be sure because you've never spoken before.

“Considering all of the excitement today I figured I'd try my hand at luck,” she says, and for some reason, you find that you can't bring yourself to move. You look at Imayoshi and see that he's looking at her but he's not _seeing_ her, it's as if he's looking right _through_ her. He says nothing and you can see apprehension spreading out across the girl's face in jersey number four. _Was it Emma? Eliza? Ellie?_ You wish you could remember but the quest for her name is entirely derailed in a matter of seconds anyway.

You miss the entirety of her sentence but Imayoshi's response makes whatever she said apparent enough. He scoffs, the sound sharp and rude against his tongue before he emits a cold chuckle. “Do you honestly think that I'd go out with someone like you? You're not even smart enough to date me. 'Sides, you could never keep up with me, darlin'. I'm far too much for you to handle.”

All of the joy on the girl's face disappears at that moment, leaving her crestfallen and on the verge of tears. You can't exactly name the force that drives you over to Imayoshi or why you're so angry but you know that it's visible in your expression because Sakurai leaps out of your way and mutters a hasty “I'm sorry!”

“I've never heard such a crock of shit in my life! You're so full of yourself, aren't you? Do you even know anything about her? What could be so bad about her that you can't even give her a chance? She's pretty and smart and the only thing that'd be _too much for her to handle_ is your misplaced arrogance.” You don't know why you're defending a girl that you can't even remember the name of or why you're spitting venom at a boy that you spoke to for the first time only a short while ago. What's more, is that you've only just realized that what's left of the crowd has gone completely silent for the volume of your voice.

You look around uncomfortably but you figure that since you've already drawn this much attention to yourself there's no point in stopping before you finish expressing how you feel.

“I'm so tired of guys thinking that they can walk all over us girls because _they can_. What the hell does that even _mean_? What gives you the right to pick and choose from us as if we're some kind of...of meat? We don't owe you anything. We're people too and you're not better just because history makes men out to be a cut above women. You might have a dick between your legs but it's nothing I couldn't go out and get myself if I wanted to. You're not special. Try having a period every month or giving birth, then we'll talk.”

You finish yelling and take a deep breath. You can feel your heart pounding wildly against the cages of your chest and there's a strange buzzing sound humming in your ears. You take another breath, this one shakier than the last, to steel yourself against the emotions cresting through you. “I'm tired of getting labels put on us when guys can walk around saying and doing whatever they want without discipline. And don't even think about blaming it on emotions and hormones because we're just as strong as you are. We have to be to put up with your constant influx of bullshit.”

“____,” Momoi says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder with caution, almost as if touching you might burn her fingertips. “I'm on your side here but I think you need to calm down.”

You finally tear your fixed gaze away from Imayoshi and look at the pink-haired girl standing at your side. “I'm just so tired of guys treating us like we're disposable objects.” You look back at Imayoshi despite the tears collecting along the lines of your lashes. “You say that we're too emotional but then you treat us like we don't have feelings, and we're just supposed to accept that.” A cool bead rolls down your cheek and you wipe it away with more force than strictly necessary. “This” –you hold up your fingers and the salt-damp catches in the fluorescent lights above you– “this is passion, this is anger. This isn't sadness. We aren't robots, so get your heads out of your asses and stop treating us like we're machines.”

You realize that you're speaking to a mass majority of the boys in the room and the overwhelming awareness of what possibilities might be in store for you on Monday is enough to push you forward and in the direction of the exit. You don't look back, not even when the remaining girls in the gym start to cheer and offer words of encouragement. It's too much and you're shaking so badly from the electricity sparking heat through your veins that you're not sure you're going to make it home.

But somehow you do, and it takes every grain of your self-control to keep from checking your social media accounts to see how many people have already posted a video of your impromptu speech to the internet.

You collapse onto your bed and stare at the ceiling until your eyes begin to water for lack of moisture. The current in your veins has calmed but the thoughts inside your head are still magnetic, and you can't shake the feeling that your nerves have been singed and your heart has been branded by some unseen force.

The buzzing in your head keeps you up for most of the day and well into the night, and when you do sleep, your dreams are on fire and the blisters along the front line are too black for you to see the burned-out scene in the background between the quiet little monsters and the boy with inky hair and square glasses.

* * *

Kozue calls you Sunday morning and you're half-grateful, half-annoyed because Sunday is for sleeping in, but at the same time, she wakes you from a dream that you're too ashamed to come to terms with.

You mumble something against the phone that you hope passes for a greeting while fumbling for the glass of water on your bedside table.

“You can yell at me for disturbing your beauty sleep later but you should consider us even for letting me miss what everyone's talking about,” she says, leaving no space for breath between her words.

“What are you talking about?” you slur sleepily and finally close your fingers around the glass.

“Snap out of it, ____! I need you front and center here! Your epic speech at the game yesterday—everyone's talking about it. All of the girls love you and all of the boys are afraid of you,” Kozue says, her laughter bubbling over the line and into your ear. You pull yourself upright and furrow your brow, not entirely on board with what she's telling you. You push a pillow behind your back and reposition the phone against your cheek.

“Why? I don't get it. I sort of spazzed out. I mean, sure, Imayoshi was a huge asshole but he got the brunt of everything I've been holding onto for the past three years. I didn't even mean to make a spectacle out of it. It just sort of...happened.” You take another sip of water and clear the lingering dregs of slumber from your throat. “So are you saying I'm the cause of some kind of movement or something?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying! Ten points to Gryffindor! Girls are finally plucking up the courage to confront their shitty boyfriends and the decent guys are looking at things from a new perspective. You should have seen Imayoshi after you left. He didn't know what to say. I swear he just stared after you for five minutes straight without blinking.” Kozue takes a bite of something and doesn't bother swallowing before continuing. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I'm here,” you say, though, you don't feel entirely cognizant. “So, you're saying that I made Imayoshi speechless? I'm just making sure that we're talking about the same guy here. Imayoshi's always ready with some kind of smart ass comment. He can't even hold it together through an entire chemistry lesson without criticizing Harasawa's lecture. He has to challenge everything.”

“I'm telling you the truth. You were there. Don't you remember? Come on,” Kozue whines. “You changed history and yet you don't even remember what happened?”

“I hardly changed history, Kozue. I just shared my opinion, that's all.” You slide out of bed and when your feet are planted firmly on the floor your stomach rumbles with hunger. “I'll catch you a bit later, okay? I'm starving.”

“Yeah, yeah, go eat,” Kozue lilts. “Just stop being so humble about this. You did a great thing.”

“We'll see. I'd be willing to bet my last twenty that come next Friday everything will be right back to normal. And that's being generous.”

You say your goodbyes and walk down to the kitchen in your pajamas. There's a note on the counter that you don't bother to read because you already know what it's going to say and make your way over the to fridge. You're feeling oddly inspired so you make yourself a decent breakfast for a change. You scroll through your social media feed between bites and it becomes evident that Kozue wasn't exaggerating when you last spoke. There are a fair number of comments that are less promising than others and you roll your eyes when you see a derogatory argument between one of Kirishima's best friends and a girl from your math class.

You're in the process of putting your phone down when a comment catches your attention. You take a bite of toast and chew it mindlessly as you read over the screen in front of you.

_Imayoshi swears that he's going to get ____. Do you guys think it's possible?_

You scoff involuntarily and choke on a piece of bread. You take a quick swig of juice and focus on your breathing while wiping away the inevitable tears that spill down your cheeks. “Get me _how_?” you rasp aloud and take another deep breath.

For the rest of the day, you find yourself unusually irritated by everything. Finishing your homework doesn't come easy and by the time dinner is ready, you're more than ready for a break. However, halfway through dinner, your mother starts to nag you about sending in your college applications and gives you a lecture about the importance of diligence all while your father interjects here and there with references to procrastination.

You go to bed early in hopes that you'll be able to forget what's ailing you but it's impossible when you don't even know exactly _what_ that is. You roll over and grab your phone, immediately noticing two missed calls from Kozue. You text her a quick message about seeing her tomorrow and stuff your earbuds into your ears. You turn up the volume on your phone and listen to your favorite songs until sleep finally touches your eyes.

You dream about a disco outside of your window and bright lights dancing on rain-slick streets. You spin around like the records in your best friend's apartment and take pictures in a fleeting pursuit to stop time. And while the stars are falling from the sky, sin is born from a kiss that pulls you into a tidal wave and takes you down the road to an age-old circus show.

* * *

The week starts back at the beginning and you think about how so much of your life has been playing on repeat. You wonder how long the picture show of your days will be when you close your eyes on this lifetime, how much of it will be in your limb of bone and lace against the ghost of a dream. You try and tell yourself that you're too young to worry and that philosophy is nothing but an art but your brain seems determined to work itself to exhaustion—so you spend the morning hours in a haze, thinking about everything and nothing at all.

In fact, you're so lost in your thoughts that you don't realize that Imayoshi's stolen Kozue's seat until he passes you today's assignment. You take the paper with needless caution and scan the room for your best friend.

“She's helping the science committee divvy up the new supplies so I thought I'd keep you company,” Imayoshi says as he writes his name across the top of his paper.

“What makes you think that I have any interest in your company?” you ask, following suit.

“I reckon you don't. However, I don't take kindly to being put on display without my consent but since you already took the liberty of doing so, I'm going to prove to you that you're wrong.” Imayoshi glances at you sideways, his mouth pressed into a tight line and the dark strokes of his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

“You're wasting your time,” you tell him directly. “I have no interest in you or your _lessons,_ and as far as putting you on display, you deserved it. If you had a shred of decency inside that black heart of yours, you wouldn't be in this position.”

Imayoshi lifts his gaze to the front of the classroom and chuckles. “I didn't know that you thought so highly of me.”

“If you had taken something more than a personal vendetta away from what I told you, I might have thought a little better of you but apparently that's too much to ask.” You open your textbook for lack of a better thing to do and pretend to read about chemical reactions.

“So what _would_ it take for you to think better of me?” Imayoshi asks, his voice slipping into a honeyed purr that sticks to the fine hairs on your skin.

“How should I know? I've never thought about it,” you answer following the barest hint of a shrug. “Why should my opinion influence you to do the right thing? You should have enough common sense to know right from wrong. Knowledge is power to the wise but a fool will never let his mind be changed. I guess it's just up to you to decide which side of the fence you want to land on.”

Imayoshi arches an eyebrow and lets his elbow slide forward a fraction against the polished surface of the desk. “Which epigraph did you steal that from?” He waits for a brief moment but when you don't respond he pulls his spine back into proper alignment. “Look, I'm not trying to point my finger and shift the blame. I'm just trying to understand where you're coming from.”

You laugh out loud then, and several students at the front of the class turn around to look at you. “No, you're not,” you tell him. “You're just trying to prove a point and I'm not going to fall for it.”

“Imayoshi-kun, get back to your assigned seat,” Harasawa orders, finally taking his place at the head of the class.

“I beg to differ, sweetheart,” Imayoshi whispers as he collects his belongings. “I reckon I'll see you soon.”

It sounds like an empty threat but you know better than to believe that Imayoshi won't live up to it. He has a reputation to uphold, after all, and that notoriety is enough to speak for itself.

* * *

For the rest of the week, Imayoshi haunts you with his presence. He always seems to know where you are and if he's not within mere feet of your proximity, he's not far out of sight. He acts as a shadow and he tries so many verbal tactics on you that by the end of the week you swear that he's started speaking in tongues. If nothing else, you have to admire his perseverance because you've stuck to your guns and given him nothing but empty chambers to work with. Yet, he still takes shot after shot in hopes that his aim is good enough to hit the mark.

By Friday afternoon, those who still care enough to follow what's happening are bisected into two groups. Some are surprised by your unshakable tenacity while others are shocked by Imayoshi's inability to charm you after so many attempts. It's empowering as much as it is irritating because nothing is quite as annoying as having everyone entrenched in your business.

You're standing at your locker, minutes away from the freedom of the outdoors when you can feel the familiar shiver that wraps around your spine every time Imayoshi's nearby. You sigh dramatically and finish zipping up your bag before turning around. “You know, one would think that you'd be tired of being rejected.”

You expect Imayoshi to respond with one of his snide remarks or sarcastic quips but his chest doesn't rise the way it does before he speaks and his lips don't part for speech because they're fitting against the space of your own. They're warm and soft and smooth and you don't know why but the way they feel surprises you more than the act itself. That is until you realize exactly what's happening, but by the time you make to draw back Imayoshi is already walking away to leave the image of his silhouette burned into your brain and the taste of his lips on your tongue.

_What the hell was that for?_ you ruminate, then before she can hound you with phone calls at the most inopportune of times, you call Kozue to tell her what happened.

* * *

Saturday morning feels like an extension of Friday because you can't parse exactly when the evening stars dissolved into the morning dew. You feel sluggish and disoriented when you climb out of bed and into your clothes. You comb your hair with simple absentmindedness and brush your teeth without sparing a single glance at the mirror because you don't want to see how big the circles under your eyes have become.

You don't know why you haven't been able to sleep well but you have a fair reason to believe that it's due to a scar that looks just like a certain someone that's been left on your brain. You blink your eyes and exhale a slow breath, wondering if staying in bed would have been a better option for today.

You reluctantly make your way downstairs but no amount of preparation could have readied you for what you see when you enter the kitchen.

“What are you doing in my house?” you ask, incredulous and apprehensive.

Imayoshi doesn't bother looking up from the newspaper that's spread out across the kitchen table when he answers you with: “I came to pay you a visit and your mother was kind enough to let me in.”

“I'll have to remember to murder her when she gets home then,” you say, grinding the words between your teeth like sand.

“I reckon that won't be for a while,” Imayoshi tells you, then takes a sip from the coffee mug between his hands.

“That's my mug,” you complain, staring at Imayoshi like he's some kind of creature that has no right to be in your kitchen because, by all rights, he doesn't. “And what do you mean by that anyway? I don't even know what my mother does half the time and you're telling me that she shared those details with _you_?”

“Actually” –Imayoshi swallows– “she did. She's a charming woman, that one.”

“Cut the bullshit, Imayoshi. Tell me why you're here so you can get the hell out of my house.” You press yourself against the wall in an unconscious effort to put distance between Imayoshi and yourself.

“What could I have done that was so bad that you feel the need to constantly make me the enemy?” Imayoshi asks, folding his hands together on the table. “You don't even _know_ me.”

“What makes you think that I want to know you? Why are you so determined to win me over? It's not going to happen.” You toss your arms up in the direction of the ceiling in a gesture of distress and exhale a harsh breath. “I don't know how to get that through to you.”

“And you call me the egotistical one. That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think? You're so busy making this about you that you won't even answer my question.” Imayoshi leans back against the solidity of the chair and smiles slowly.

You don't wait for him to say whatever it is that's threatening to spill past his lips because you know that you're not ready to hear it. “This _is_ about me,” you impede. Then you push yourself away from the wall because standing still feels like self-imprisonment. “You're making this about me. You won't leave me alone! I've been doing all I can to get you to see that I don't want you but–”

“Liar,” Imayoshi purrs, the stretch of his mouth growing wider. He pushes himself out of the chair and into standing, and all you can think at that moment is how much he resembles a fox when he moves toward you.

You want to distance yourself from him but your feet are rooted to the floor, and when he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger you understand that this was never going to play out any other way. You look into Imayoshi's eyes, dark and inscrutable like the night that draws you in, and you're so deep in his gaze that you don't discern the chemicals in your brain or the rapid thrum of your heart.

“Don't tell me that you didn't feel something when I kissed you yesterday,” Imayoshi whispers, his breath hot against your lips. A shiver trickles down the staircase of your spine and you try desperately not to show it but your body betrays you as it trembles in its wake.

“I didn't,” is your answer, firm and sure, but you can read disbelief in Imayoshi's fixed stare the instant the words leave your mouth.

“Care to put that to test?” Imayoshi asks, dipping his head to bring himself closer to the delicate part of your lips. You feel your body shudder and you know that Imayoshi can feel it too, and it's the last thing you need right now because it's answer enough to his arrogant accusation without the need for words.

“You're no good for me,” you whisper, turning your head away from Imayoshi's touch. “You have nothing that I want.”

Imayoshi lets a low sound vibrate in the back of his throat, and it's plain to see that he's unaffected by your withdrawal because he's sliding his cool fingers down to the underside of your chin to tilt your head back. “You're too sweet, too innocent, and for as much as I'm willing to play this game with you, I'm nearing the end of my patience, love.” Imayoshi looks deep into your eyes, his own reflecting back at you with an intensity you couldn't dream of naming.

Subsequently, his mouth takes over the shape of your lips with crushing ferocity as he tugs you forward and against his chest. He's warmer than you expected him to be, calming somehow, and it's not until he slides his tongue between your lips and over your teeth that you grasp the fact that all of the power and leverage you can bring to bear is useless against the devil in front of you. You sigh into Imayoshi's mouth and he responds by sucking on your tongue, his long fingers sliding along the smooth column of your throat as he strokes heat against your mouth.

You almost growl when you break from the hungry kiss, hating yourself for letting him get this far ahead of you, hating yourself for liking the way he tastes—as sweet and cloying in flavor as he is with his honeyed words. Imayoshi smiles as if he can read your thoughts and lifts a hand to stroke his fingertips over your lips. “Why are you so damn determined to refuse what you want?”

“How are you so damn sure that this is what I want?” you bite back, slapping Imayoshi's hand away from your face. “All we do is run circles around each other. You drive me insane. You're rude and annoying and the only reason you have an interest in me is so you can prove a point.”

“Who said that I'm trying to prove a point?” Imayoshi asks, looking genuinely curious. He watches you for a moment, smirking to keep himself from laughing at the way you ball your hands into fists and clench your teeth, your jaw set on frustration. “If all I wanted was to prove a point, I would have done so by now and have long since been on my way. All arrogance aside, it takes very little to make my opinions known. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the reserved type.”

“Well, in case _you_ haven't noticed, this is the longest conversation you and I have ever had and if that's not saying something about our” –you wave your hands in broken gesticulation– “whatever this is, then I don't know what will. We don't get along. We have nothing in common–”

“But you just made a show of implying that we hardly know each other. How would you know if we had anything in common or not?” Imayoshi asks, the sound of his voice purring into resonance enough of a distraction that you miss the shift of his hand. His fingers close on your wrist, and the energy that slips through your blood comes in waves and you can't breathe. Imayoshi leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your mouth, he nips your lips as he draws away and sends lightning through your teeth. “Give me a chance, love.”

Imayoshi's touch feels like a tourniquet and the vulnerability that slips through your veins feels like a drug. You close your eyes and imagine what it would mean to give him that chance, to enjoy every illicit and depraved suggestion that passes through your mind, to whet your appetite with his destruction. You shake your head and step back away from his touch, but for every inch, you move away he's closing in like a dark cloud and you're too afraid to even consider that it might be what you want.

You turn around and touch your fingers to your lips, still tasting coffee on your tongue and regret in the dark of your throat. It's contradictory to the fire that sparks excitement over your nerve-endings but that heat is the catalyst that forces your stillness into motion.

You can't tell if it's you or Imayoshi who makes it into your room first but there's something wrong with the adrenaline coursing through you because the hands that are fitting into his soft hair should be pushing away the fingers closing on your hips. You intended to escape not to draw him closer, but that's exactly what you're doing, and you don't know why you can't pull away, only that it seems like you're under some kind of spell.

Imayoshi slides a hand beneath the hem of your shirt and you gasp at the contact, the slow friction of his fingers against your skin almost unsuited to the gentleness of his touch. His lips move over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his tongue tracing over the rapid twitch of your pulse with the cool edges of his teeth.

“Wait,” you urge, tightening your fingers in his hair in an attempt to draw his attention back to your face. “I've...I've never done this before.” You exhale a sharp breath that doesn't quite shift into the laughter you intend it to. “I can't believe I'm even saying this.”

Imayoshi strokes a hand along the curve of your waist while he traces the fingers of his opposite hand along your jaw to coax your chin up. You close your eyes so he can kiss you, and this time it lacks the desperation and the demand it carried with it earlier. It seems unbecoming of him, unfit, and you can't parse whether it's part of a ruse or if it circles back to the fact that you genuinely don't know that much about him.

Everything about this seems wrong and you consider the fact that maybe the devil has taken over a part of your mind, making it almost impossible to see reason for the desire that's taken control of your vision. It seems like an expensive fate but Imayoshi is pressing his nose into your hair and whispering that he has no intention of hurting you.

You know better than to believe him but you _want_ to trust him because trusting him means quenching the thirst that's making it so hard to swallow and alleviating the need that's making your knees go weak.

Imayoshi begins the task of methodically undressing you, his hands certain and knowing of buttons and clasps, and his fingers glance your skin with a tenderness that makes you tremble.

It's unnerving to be laid bare—save for a pair of panties—at such an intimate distance, especially while Imayoshi's dragging his gaze over your body like it's something to be charted. He smooths moisture into the tiny cracks lining his mouth and what would normally be a simple gesture is enough to make you cross your arms over your naked chest.

“You're as beautiful as I'd imagined,” Imayoshi tells you in the same offhand tone he uses when talking about the weather. It makes you speculate whether there's a single bone of insecurity in his body. “Come here,” he says, and it's a command but it lacks the force of an order or a challenge. He holds out his arms and you step forward, not lowering your crossed arms until your chest is pressed close to Imayoshi's own.

“Why do you want me?” you ask, your voice going shaky with the fear that's coiled around you like an icy blanket.

Imayoshi strokes your hair and presses a kiss to your forehead before bothering to issue an answer. “Because I truly believe that you're one of the few that can keep up with me. I'm sure that it won't come as a surprise, but I lose interest in things easily, and that inattention is only made worse when it comes to people. I feel like with you, boredom isn't an option.” Imayoshi's hands, clever enough on their own to drive you into a frenzy, slide down your back and caress your skin. His hot breath catches on your neck when he dips his head to run his tongue along the shell of your ear. It makes your body tingle and a knot of pleasure form in the low of your belly, warming your bare skin and making you shiver with delight.

“I don't know if I can do this,” is your response, as unsteady as you are uncertain.

“Come over here,” Imayoshi says, taking you by the hand and guiding you over to your bed.

It's hard to accept the fact that you're taking orders from a boy you previously refused to acknowledge, in your room no less. Your room is a sacred place, a sanctuary for your thoughts and desires and all of the fantasies you never _meant_ to have but did because your imagination refused to respect your unstated wishes.

Your heart begins to race and your legs start to shake, and if not for Imayoshi's guidance you're not entirely sure you'd still be standing. Which is why you're all the more grateful to him when he gently pushes you down and onto your bed. You don't understand how he manages to be eerily perceptive at all of the more critical moments but he always seems to _know_.

“That's a good girl,” Imayoshi purrs and drops to his knees. He rests his hands on your thighs and drags friction down over the curve of your knees, letting his fingers trail down over your calves and back up again. “I'm going to take care of you,” he adds, then places a chaste kiss on the inside of one knee. He gently eases apart your legs and for all of the anticipation that's thrumming through you like electricity you're overtaken by fear. Your thighs quiver in protest but before you can close off Imayoshi's access to your apex, his fingers are brushing over your clit. You inhale a sharp breath that catches in your throat and your hips lift as if attached to invisible strings, and somehow Imayoshi works himself between your legs in a way that denies you surrender.

“Relax, ____ . You need to trust me. Once you open up to me you're not going to remember what it evens means to be afraid.” Imayoshi's fingers graze your inner thigh and before your next breath, he's sliding the fabric of your panties to the side, likely convinced that taking them off isn't the best of options when skepticism and self-doubt are leaking from your every pore.

You squeeze your eyes closed and cover your face with your hands for lack of knowing what to do with yourself, but it's not enough to cancel out the slick drag of Imayoshi's tongue when he licks his lips or to ward off the heat of his mouth when he presses his damp aperture against your sex. A thousand thoughts explode inside your head like tiny stars forming new constellations but you can't focus on a single one of them for the sensation that tears through your body like an unforeseen storm.

“Oh... _oh god_ ,” you gasp, lowering a hand to the back of Imayoshi's head in reactive response. You arch your back and follow the magnetism of your spine down to your cunt as pleasure underscores your ability to think. Imayoshi smiles against your sex and slowly drags his tongue up the length of your slit. His hands come to rest on your thighs and he pushes your legs open until you can feel strain collecting in your muscles. He flicks his tongue over your clit and hooks your panties around his thumb as he spreads apart your labia for deeper access. Your entire body is trembling, overtaken by sensations you never dreamed could feel this good. You whimper and card your fingers through Imayoshi's hair, involuntarily drawing him closer to the tingling heat between your thighs. You roll your hips, and for a moment you're horrified because _this cannot be happening_ —but then Imayoshi is tearing your panties away from your hips for broader admission and sliding a finger into your tight heat.

Your body clenches around the sudden intrusion but where you expect pain there's only pleasure and you silently chide yourself for wanting more. But it's what you get when Imayoshi slides a second finger in alongside the first, and suddenly you're panting and grinding against his touch with sinful abandon. You don't want to admit that he's right but despite the thoughts warring inside your head, there's no room for fear between the desire and the pleasure and the longing that's taken control over you. It's confusing and frustrating and wonderful all the same.

“You taste delicious,” Imayoshi notes, sucking on the bottom line of his mouth. “You're soaking my fingers, love. Do you think you can handle a third?” he rasps, seduction dripping from his tone in the same way your arousal is slicking his skin. The prurient awareness makes you flush and your skin burn hotter.

_A third what?_ “Oh,” is all you can manage for a moment then, “I don't...don't ask me that. I don't think I can...it's too much.” You continue undulating your hips reflexively, body searching for that blissful friction and craving release. Imayoshi's lips tilt on a smirk that touches on condescension but you miss it because you haven't been able to bring yourself to look at him since he took up the space between your legs.

Nevertheless, Imayoshi works a third finger past your glistening entrance and between the stretch and the sound that spills past Imayoshi's lips you think consciousness is a virtue. Imayoshi slides his wet digits in deeper then draws them back out slowly, and the wet sound that meets your ears makes you inhale a shameful gasp. Imayoshi chuckles and twists his fingers _just so_. “Look at that,” he says, and you rock forward as if on cue, taking his fingers as deep as your slick heat will allow. “Three fingers deep and you're still begging for more. You're truly debauched,” Imayoshi hums. “I can hardly wait to push your boundaries.”

You tilt your hips forward and whine, and the sound is almost enough to drown out the audible slide of Imayoshi's zipper coming down but not quite. The audible drag of metal teeth shoots straight through your core and up to your heart, the prospect of what's to come overwhelming your senses. You focus on the brief rustle of clothing and the hiss of air that catches between Imayoshi's teeth as he presumably releases his cock from its confines. He shifts his stance and slides his hand up your stomach, his fingers walking over the tension that shakes you before coming to cup the weight of your right breast in his palm.

Imayoshi slowly withdraws his fingers from your heat and the slide pulls a broken whimper along with it. Imayoshi's chest vibrates with a deep chuckle as he pushes himself into standing and begins stroking the full weight of his leaking member. The hand at your breast remains and when he leans forward to rub the tip of his cock against your wet slit, he slides his fingers up and across a turgid peak.

“You have gorgeous tits,” Imayoshi complements, skimming his fingers over the valley of your breasts before teasing the opposite nipple to sensitive hardness.

“What exactly do you plan to do with me?” The question leaves your mouth before you're entirely prepared for it but Imayoshi doesn't miss a beat. He continues toying with your aching nipples until the sensation reaches a critical point, all while stroking over himself with the idle laziness of a Sunday morning.

“That, sweetheart, would take a lot of explaining.” Imayoshi kicks off his socks and shucks his jeans but he doesn't bother with the crisp T-shirt that clings to his body in all the right places or the glasses that never seem to leave his face. He smiles at you then, wearing arrogance better than he has any right to as he positions himself at the edge of your bed and lines himself up to your entrance. You can feel the damp of his precome and the slick of your arousal between your bodies and the reality of what's transpiring steals your breath away.

Imayoshi easily deciphers the bones of your apprehension and gently lifts your hips to drag your weight closer to the perimeter of the mattress. “I'd be happy to give you a play-by-play but I thought it would be more advantageous to both of us if I just give you a physical example.”

Your eyes go wide as the head of Imayoshi's swollen cock slides against your soft skin and catches at your opening. “Wait!” you panic, but Imayoshi cants his hips and as soon as the head of his cock enters you, he cages you between his arms. He stills for a moment to catch his breath, his eyes closing and his lips parting to release the almost silent whisper of a shudder. Shortly thereafter, he leans forward and presses his mouth to the fine sheen of sweat sticking to your neck, kissing and licking the salt-warmth of your flesh.

“Fuck,” Imayoshi moans, the word spreading out into a trace of warmth that melts into your skin. “You feel amazing. So wet and hot and tight. Is this the first time you've had _anything_ inside of you?” he asks as he slides into you, gentle and easy. “I should have played with you more. I could have brought my toys along.” His narrow hips rock forward and you can feel your inner muscles clenching around the solid length inside of you, desperate for more. Imayoshi moves with smooth caution, his spine undulating in calculated, sensuous movements as he drives himself deeper inch by guarded inch.

“Do you...” Imayoshi begins, but the question vibrates into a low growl when you squeeze your muscles around his throbbing length. It takes him a brief moment to recover but then he's lifting his gaze to your face and clearing his throat as if it's necessary to continue. “Do you have any regrets?” he asks, hips rolling downwards, pressing you into the mattress as you squirm in a way that offers more friction.

You shake your head as if you're capable of giving an honest answer and curl your fingers in against the front of his shirt. You start to pull him closer but he's already closing in on you to nibble on the bottom line of your mouth. His teeth are sharp but it centers you as he reaches between your bodies just enough to roll your hypersensitive peaks firmly between his fingers. You cry out and Imayoshi snaps his hips forward to punctuate the sound. You bury your fingers in his hair while he bites at your skin, not hard enough to draw blood but firm enough to leave tiny imprints along the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

Imayoshi fucks into you slowly but each drag of his hips is decisive and confident. He drags the edges of his teeth along your jaw and up to the shell of your ear. “I should have fucked you sooner. I just might have to keep you like this—all to myself—all wanton and wicked and oh so _wet_.” Imayoshi lowers his hips and curves his spine to slide into you at a new angle. “Just listen to that...listen to the filthy sounds you're making for me.”

You writhe under Imayoshi's touch, craving every intimate beneficence he has to offer: every warm touch, every salacious kiss, every syllable of his erotic voice. It's too much and not enough and you're nearly crying by the time he slips a hand between your legs to stroke his fingers over your aching clit. His lips curl into a wolfish grin and the slick on his skin catches in the light, making his complexion resemble something ethereal which is truly ironic.

Imayoshi lowers his free hand to your hip and digs his fingers into your flesh as he steadily increases the rhythm of his thrusts. He's panting and you're gasping as he fucks into you, your bodies quivering and tense at the apogee of your mutual arousal. His talented fingers continue to dance over your clit and when you feel your inner muscles clench around his cock you tighten your fingers in his hair, pulling at it desperately, almost savagely.

Imayoshi ducks his head and rests his clammy forehead against your own, his hair swinging forward to graze the sharp angle of his cheekbones. He looks dangerous and sinister, like something untouchable but hauntingly beautiful, and you _still_ can't believe that this is actually happening.

Imayoshi groans something unintelligible and tightens his fingers on the makeshift handhold of your hip, his touch promising future bruises. He flicks his tongue out across his lips and moans, his shoulders shaking as he begins to capitulate to his body's demands. “Come for me, ____ .” His voice is rough and straining and there's a fleeting moment of panic that rushes through you right before Imayoshi quickly withdraws from your body to spill his release across your bare stomach.

You part your lips for a breath you don't expect to find and thrust your hips forward to press yourself firmly against Imayoshi's tormenting fingers. You tilt your head back and Imayoshi utilizes that moment to coax shameful noises out of the straining tension in your throat. He slides the fingers of his unoccupied hand through the viscous mess he's painted you in and delights in smearing the sticky substance over your straining nipples in turn, pinching and pulling and teasing.

You swallow thickly and exhale a throaty moan between your bitten lips. You can feel pleasure crest in your veins and your body tighten before your climax finally breaks free, your pulse racing, heart pounding, and limbs shaking.

Imayoshi presses his lips to your mouth, swallowing down your cry of pleasure and stealing what little breath you have left in your lungs. It seems selfish somehow but you have no feasible reason for deeming it as such so you lazily slide your fingers through Imayoshi's sweat-damp hair until the muscles in your arm fail you.

You don't know exactly what to expect now that Imayoshi has spent himself and thrown you so far over the heights of your crescendo that you're not sure you'll ever truly recover. You fear the gravity of your decision when the haze of arousal has washed away and reality crashes down over you—but you refuse to taint this moment with your tendency to overthink everything.

“You did well,” Imayoshi says, his voice thick and shot-through with honey. “I didn't expect you to be _such_ a good girl.” He lowers his head, the ends of his hair brushing over your throat as he lays a trail of kisses across the swell of your chest. “You're remarkably inspirational,” he continues, ghosting his fingers up and down your sides. “I reckon you'll be able to keep pace with me in no time.”

You lift a hand and drag your fingertips over the jut of his shoulder, wondering how he's still capable of holding himself upright. “Wait, what is that supposed to mean? I thought that I kept up with you just fine,” you say, your tone as assertive as it is weighty with listlessness.

Imayoshi chuckles darkly as he flicks his tongue over a nipple, the vibration of it making you hiss in surprise. “Oh, darlin'...you have no idea what I'm truly capable of, do you?” He crawls up the bed a fraction and lowers his head to slide his tongue out across your lips. “I'm a dastardly serpent you see, and I can only hold off my desires for so long.” He slips his thumb into your mouth and presses the warm digit in against your wet tongue. “The next time this happens, I won't be so kind.”

You close your eyes instinctively and suck the salt and arousal from his skin. He's smiling when you blink the room back into focus and you can't help but find comfort and excitement in the future promise. His eyes are dark and his pupils are still blown wide, adding to the profoundness of his mystique. It makes you want to dig deeper, to dive down to the abysmal depths of his psyche and swim through the shadowy wells of his disposition.

But it's not like you to give in so easily, so you look him in the eye and ask: “What if there isn't a next time? What makes you so sure that I'm going to want to be with you again?”

Imayoshi's smile breaks into a grin, his lips curling back just enough to show the prominence of his perfect teeth. “I could make several arguments here but since you've just experienced your first time, I'll let sleeping dogs lie. If I were to put it in layman's terms, however, both you and I know that this time is far from the last.”

You press the flat of your palm against his chest and push, forcing him to take up the place at your side as you tug yourself upright. “And why is that?” you lilt, half-crawling into his lap, all previous insecurities set aside. You let him observe the fullness of your breasts before settling your weight over his flushed thigh. You can feel warmth spread into your cheeks with the glaring awareness that you're slicking his skin with the earlier stains of your arousal but if he minds—which you doubt he does—he doesn't show it. Instead, he smirks and wraps an arm around the low of your back to steady your precarious balance.

“Are you already prepared for another demonstration?” Imayoshi questions, arching an eyebrow. “Perhaps I miscalculated your abilities.”

“Perhaps,” you parrot, pushing Imayoshi down against the rumpled bed covers. “However, I think it's my turn to _demonstrate_.” You push up the wrinkled edge of Imayoshi's shirt and rake your nails gently down his chest. His breath hitches and his stomach muscles tighten, and when you follow the dark line of hair from his navel to his cock he lets his head fall back against the mattress.

“I definitely miscalculated your abilities,” he says, running a hand through the inky spill of his hair. “I guess you're even more of an anomaly than I originally thought.”

“Well” –you curl your fingers around the base of his cock– “you did say I was a good girl. Now quit trying to analyze me and let me give you a massage.”

Imayoshi lifts himself just enough to curl a hand around the nape of your neck. He closes his eyes before he pulls you into a sensual kiss of lips and tongue and teeth, and you smile against his mouth as your stroke him idly, fingers open and light against his growing arousal.

No one ever said that a good girl can't be bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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